All the Colours of the Rainbow but I Only See Red
by TantalumCobolt
Summary: Clint Barton meets Natasha Romanoff and falls in love. At some point he begins to see the world in shades of red.


The first time they meet her hair is long and blonde, the ringlets cascading down the open back of her floor length evening gown. The fabric is a deep scarlet red that shimmers when she spins across the dance floor.

He's not there for her; he doesn't even know who she is. But the dress is stunning (she is stunning) and when he tells her as much she giggles and bats her eyelashes and pretends she hasn't heard it already.

They meet by accident.

They leave together on purpose.

Her hair is short and chestnut coloured in a warehouse in Belarus. Her dress is red but not by choice. The blood is everywhere; hands, arms, dress, legs, face. More blood than he's ever seen on one person before.

(His, hers, the target's. He doesn't even know anymore.)

"It's gonna be okay," he murmurs.

"Вы не должны лежать к даме," she spits. "Теперь идти. Прежде чем они возвращают" (You should not lie to a lady. Now go. Before they return.)

The sound of gunfire is loud, louder, loudest as he protests. Then quiet, quieter, quietest as he slips out the way he came and leaves her lying on the floor in a pool of red.

There's always red. He thinks it might be her favourite colour.

(Doesn't dare ask.)

It's streaked through hair the colour of roasted coffee beans, twisted into a haphazard bun that still manages to look perfectly styled. It probably is, he thinks as one stray strand tickles his nose when she leans up kiss him. After all, she never does things without a reason.

"You left me," she breathes against his lips. Brown doe eyes blinking up at him. Coy smile cutting dimples into red-tinged cheeks.

He knows better than to fall for the act.

(He thinks maybe he does anyway.)

You asked me to, he thinks.

I didn't want to, he thinks.

"Don't tell me you're still mad about that," he says. Eyebrow arched. Hand lifting to tuck the stray whisps of hair behind her ear. "It's been almost a year."

Her laugh is deep and throaty and makes him love her just a little bit more.

(When did he even start loving her?)

Fury gives him an order. He doesn't follow it.

"She has potential," is what he tells Coulson.

"We can use her," is what he tells Fury.

"I like you hair red," is what he tells her when she asks him why he didn't just kill her or let her go. "It makes you look like yourself."

It's the most honest thing he's said all day.

Her hair stays red.

Different styles, different shades, different identities. But it's always red.

(He begins to realise that maybe red is his favourite colour too.)

The leaves are red when they visit the park. It's not a date (it never is) but they have a free day and she wants to spend it surrounded by nature.

He doesn't care as long as he's surrounded by red.

Her dress is white.

His tux is black.

The roses are red.

"You're beautiful, маленький красный."

"You're not bad yourself, красивый."

Their first home doesn't have red trim, or red paint, or redwood floors. It doesn't even have one of those toxic, cherry red shaggy rugs he threatened to buy.

She tells him she loves it (loves him) but he thinks maybe she looks a little disappointed.

She comes home from an assignment three days after their first anniversary and doesn't wait to shower before tumbling into bed.

The sheets are crimson.

She tells him it's distasteful.

(He knows she means thank you.)

He learns to see the world in shades of red.

Then Loki happens. Suddenly, his world is no longer red but blue.

Every day he looks for red but all he sees is purple. He learns to hate purple almost as much as he's learnt to hate blue.

It makes sense that red - true red - her red - is what brings him back.

He doesn't warm up to Banner as fast as he does to the others. It takes him almost four months to realise it's because the colours are wrong.

Steve's shield has red. Thor's cape has red. Tony's suit has red.

Banner's pants are purple.

Even after he realises this, it's not until he catches sight of red on the soles of Banner's shoes that he begins to relax around the guy.

He pictures chubby toddlers with vibrant red ringlets and sea green eyes when he closes his eyes.

He knows what they (the only kind of red that isn't good) did to her. He knows she can't have children.

He pictures it anyway.

It makes sense that there's a lot of red.

(Always so much red.)

Red brought her into the world. Red unmade her and remade her and made her who she is (who he loves). Red should be the one to take her from the world as well (take her from him).

He dreams of red.

Red hair and red dresses and (most importantly) red blood.

The headstone is black marble, polished and shining in the sunlight. He traces the inscription; her name, the date, "Forever Remembered, Never Forgotten".

(Adds a silent "as long as there is red" to the end.)

He leaves red roses.

Over time, red fades.

He begins to see see the world in shades of purple.

(And if red is the colour of love, and purple is the colour of advent (the arrival of a notable person or thing), then the notable person or thing he's waiting for is death.)

"What's your favourite colour?" he finds the courage to ask one day.

She takes a moment to think, red-painted nails tracing patterns in the condensation her breath leaves on the glass of the window through which she observes the city life below. He begins to think she's not going to give him an answer.

But eventually she does. One word, no explanation, no idea of how it shifts the axis his world revolves on.

"Black."

There's a lot of black in death.

It's nice.

 **AN: Russian translations (thank to google translate) are as follows:**

 **маленький красный - little red**

 **красивый - handsome**

 **Thanks for reading :) I'm not sure how I feel about this one but it begged to be written. Please leave thoughts in the comments if you have time, I'd love to hear whether you liked it / hated it, or what else you'd like to read.**


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